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    Showing posts with label Prose. Show all posts
    Showing posts with label Prose. Show all posts
  1. The Japanese Wife (Kunal Basu)

    Monday, 12 March 2012

    No, I did not watch the Aparna Sen directed film, The Japanese Wife. Infact, the fragments of the story line narrated to me by my mother and a movie freak friend, did not evoke any interest in me either... I was preoccupied with the thought that the story would be too superficial, considering the prospect of a pen-marriage between a Japanese lady and an India rural primary school teacher... It was until I read the original narration of the book by Kunal Basu ( thanks again to Pallav Deb, my akkshaytun, never-ending supplier of books), I was forced to change my perception...
     
       To be in love with someone at a distance of 7 seas and 13 rivers (I could not control my urge to use the translation of the bengali idiom sat sagor ar tero nodir par, an indication of an uncover-able distance) is something very tough, but the tougher part is to stick to it for twenty long years... I could as if feel Snehamay's insecurity even after twenty years of his married life, as my own, when he hesitated to mention to his wife about the visit and stay of his once-could-have-been bride at his place. I could feel the denseness of human emotions when Snehamay wonderes what perception, the lady, whom he rejected twenty years back, had of him... 

     I could feel the little boy's innocent curiosity towards his kaku's Japanese wife, who was an object of much ridicule mixed astonishment among all the villagers. And at last, I loved it, when contrary to my expectations that, Snehamay would need to attend his wife's funeral, it was his wife who travelled to Shonai, to attend his funeral... A perfect tragic ending... It was all in all a story of a common man, with most ordinary means, whose fate decided to make him a bit different, if not special, from other. In simple words, I loved the book!!!

  2.  There are some books that talk of things you know well, then there are some that speak things you vaguely know and lastly there are books that talk of things you feel but you don't really come up explaining your feelings... You stay in quasi state of semi-understanding and convincing yourself that this was the most you had the capability to make out... One such book is 'Reluctant Fundamentalist'.

      As I held that 180 paged book in my hands, (thanks to my friend Pallav Deb), I was quite in a fix, if at all that was my cup of tea to read something about a Pakistani migrant to America and so and so forth, but I am glad I did not drop the idea of reading it in. All the while, I was reading, I could strangely correlate with Changez, the lead of the story and sometimes even with the American soldier sitting opposite to him, in some Pakistani restaurant... The dusk darkens to night and I feel myself wondering along with Changez, the strange reasons of his aloofness towards the ongoing wars, his morally condemn-able, yet very honest feeling of momentary gayness  at the losses of America, the upheavals and downfalls of his professional and personal life and most importantly, the lack of connection between him and the American ways and life inspite of his apparent liking of these...
     
      I could feel Changez's heartfelt agony at the rejections of Erica, the woman he loved, and the lifts of his morale whenever he thought that probably he was of some importance to her. I could honestly feel that how even some one, dead long ago, can have an impact on your life, or can stand in your ways and then i felt that a lot of the feels were yet unfolded...

       The end of the book left me as if in the midst of an ocean full of uncertainty... I desperately kept hoping and infact believing that the American soldier was not at killing Changez. But strangely enough, to its comparison I merely wished that Changez would not be a terrorist. It was as if something that hardly mattered. The best part about the book was the probable antagonist being so much protagonist-like that you don't really feel bad even if he goes killing...All I am left to say is that, its one of the rarest pieces of work that engrosses you into itself completely... HAILS to Mohsin Hamid...